


Sun and Moon

by Bartkartoffeln, StudioRat



Series: Winds of Twilight [3]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Adventure, Collaboration, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bartkartoffeln/pseuds/Bartkartoffeln, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StudioRat/pseuds/StudioRat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zelda’s best friend is a stranger. </p><p>Over a decade ago, Dinauru, a child of the desert people, wrote their first letter to the young Princess of Hyrule, asking her to take the plague wind away and send rain instead. They grew close over the years, sharing stories and dreams: How to sneak into the kitchen at night. Teachers the world doesn’t need. History. Music. Books. The movements of the stars, and the boringness of grownups.</p><p>A great secret, a treasured correspondence even when their countries are at war.</p><p>In the winter of their 15th year, Sheik develops a fever during training, losing their focus. Zelda’s bodyguard sends them back to the castle to clean up - and they finds the bleeding they’d hoped to escape marking  her as a woman ready to bear children.<br/>Terrified of what this means for her life at court and shattered to lose the freedom of Sheik, Zelda sets out for the one place where she hopes to find a friend and council: Gerudo Desert.</p><p> </p><p>Written for Zelgan Week 2016<br/>Prompt : the Oldest Shade of Red</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Looking For A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Setting:  
> Winds of Twilight, many years before the events of Sun’s Heart  
> Note:  
> This adventure is a grand experiment in collaborative storytelling. Zelda/Sheik is written by [Bartkartoffeln,](http://bartkartoffeln.tumblr.com/) and the Gerudo by StudioRat.

Zelda crunched down under one of the last trees she would probably see for some time. The shade it cast did nothing to cure her light fever, nor the cramps that turned her abdomen into a hard lump of pain. As if her whole body wanted to scream at her the inevitable truth she tried to deny. The blood tainted her trousers in an unmistakable manner, welling anew , no matter how often she tried to wipe it away or prayed for it to stop. The feeling made her sick.

She had come far the last two days. Had lived from what little provisions she had taken with her from the training grounds. She’d stayed away from the main roads, taken many paths across fields and through copses. Slept under the naked skies, only covered by trees and kept warm by her bedroll and blanket, until she left both together with her long dagger in a secret place in the woods. It made for easier travel, if not for safer one.

Now the cramps were so painful, every step was a misery. She tried not to think of it.

Before her lay the outskirts of the Gerudo territory, the canyon that led into the desert merely a few stone’s throws away. The grass already was scarce, trees even scarcer, and the canyon stone reflected the heat of the sun with a passion she could feel even over here.

There were no shortcuts ahead, at least none known to her. The road was the main road. Single riders - scouts probably - with female shapes and Gerudo clothing rode past in the distance. Zelda also had seen a pair of wagons roll into the canyon, surely merchants who wanted to trade with the desert people.

 _I will not make it,_ she thought. I _t’s too hot, too far. No. No, it’s not far. I’m almost there. There is no pain. No fever. No blood._  
It became her mantra over the days.

_No pain, no fever, no blood._

She sprang to her feet and held her hand over her little pouch, containing amongst things the letter she needed to enter. Her best friend Dinauru had invited her many times to visit her. Never was she allowed. Too dangerous, to far, her father said. Now she would just allow herself to see her friend. For comfort.

Here, women counted so much more, and did not have to be married to find purpose, love and respect. Here, her bleeding did not degrade her to a token of politics.  
At least, she hoped it, and also that this hope might not be shattered like the last one.

Desperation lent her feet new strength.

No pain, no fever, no blood.

She made it to the canyon. Hot air engulfed her. No wonder this part of the canyon was called Dragon’s Mouth. Breathing became hard, so she took down the cloth above her nose and mouth. She felt new blood well and wanted to cry, but she was a warrior now, a Sheikan trainee. She wouldn’t cry. She was strong.

The desert wind whirled up the dust to greet her when she reached the stone that marked the official border between Hylian and Gerudo territory. There was relief for the first time in days.  
For a while, it gave Zelda new fuel. Yet only half a mark later, the daggers in her abdomen made her yelp, clawing at her resolve. So new and unfamiliar was the pain, that she didn’t even see the rider before they were close.

 

* * *

 

Ganondorf prowled the border as he did whenever he encamped at the near fortress, vaguely hoping to catch a Hylian raider or three to vent his frustration on. Koume and Kotake were insisting he ride out to the temple for yet another experiment - so he rode east instead. He had every excuse this time too - outriders returning from a meeting with Elapidan’s odious liaison reported a traveler lurking in the scrubland on the far side of the border.

The bridge guard swore they'd seen nothing. So, clearly, this meant he needed to look closer. Or at least let Asifad race the wind for a few marks along the border. Just in case.

He found traces at the edge of the Dragon’s Mouth, and a murmured cantrip gave form to the echoes of shed spirit lingering near the border stones. He indulged a low chuckle for the sight - first, that the marker was still two furlongs east of where Hyrule said it was supposed to be, and second, that his quarry was a woman.

Hylian women were far less inclined to be stupid than their little kings, as a rule.

Still, it wouldn't do to make a poor impression. Ganondorf considered what little the echoes could tell him, and plucked his trishul from the ether as he turned west. Anyone who braved the desert afoot and starving surely had earned a proper audience with the guardian of the same.

He saw her cloak first - short, with a dagged hem, a pennant of black edged in gold.

_Noble, then._

He pulled Asifad back to a trot, weaving minor look-away and hear-not spells into something like cover. She stumbled, and the wind obliged him for once, revealing the distinctive red-on-white of sheikan heraldry beneath.

Ganondorf cursed and cast off the illusion. Trespassing in his kingdom would be the last mistake that foul scorpion ever made.


	2. The King Of The Desert

 

The thunder of hooves echoing of the high stone walls of the Dragon's Mouth made her look up much later than it should. It shocked her how far she had let her guard down, here, in foreign territory, no matter that she had an invitation or not. Impa would scold her for this if she knew. How could she not have noticed the rider?

She tried to swallow her sudden insecurity. The Gerudo already was close enough to get a grasp of how huge a figure they were, with broad shoulders wrapped in a white mantle showing a blue-and-orange gear-tooth pattern, wielding a fearsome trishul.

Close enough she could see it was no woman approaching her, either.

Zelda stumbled backwards. The King and Guardian of Gerudos himself came to meet her. This could not mean a good thing. He might think her a spy, and rightfully so, wearing the Sheikan symbol on her chest, trespassing seemingly without official business. But she couldn't reveal her status, he mustn't know the Princess of Hyrule had a Sheikan identity! Revealing who she was could only be her last option.

Pain forgotten for a moment, she lifted her hands, palms facing Ganondorf as a sign of no ill intent, sinking wobbly to one knee.  
The shadow of horse and rider fell over her, so she spoke quickly.

"I wish no harm or war or bloodshed, Your Majesty." She hated how breathless and desperate this sounded. Not at all calm and composed like the many times she'd practised in her lessons. Maybe because at the moment she didn't want to be a princess, or composed or noble. She wanted to be Zelda. Zelda who had a problem and visited a friend to talk about it. Like normal girls did.

 

* * *

 

She sounded younger than he expected - and she knelt! _A trick, no doubt_ , and he turned at the last possible moment, weaving a tight circuit around her, trishul held low to capture her between blade and Asifad’s broad feathered hooves.

Which he lifted in pretty show, the peacock.

“Wishes mean little on this side of the border, dog of the tyrant,” he growled.

 

* * *

 

Zelda trembled slightly. It was not fear, however. He did not kill her on first sight, so surely she could reason with him, convince him - if not to let her pass, then at least to let her go.  
Letting out a ragged breath, she tried to steady herself. “In my pouch, there is a letter. I am friends with a Gerudo, and she invited me.”

The letter had a Gerudo stamp to prove its origin, so he had to believe her as soon as he saw letter and content!

 

* * *

 

“Pfah. You lie almost as poorly as a Hylian,” he said, thinking fast. Her cowl hid most of her face, but a wisp of hair did escape.

Golden hair, not white.

_What in the name of Three and the Holy Sands is **she** doing **here**?_

“No woman of the desert would be foolish enough to betray me, the King of Thieves, the Lord of Darkness, the Great Ganondorf.”

He pulled Asifad to a halt before her, tucking the central golden blade of the trishul under her chin.

“Show me this forgery - draw a blade instead and paint the sands.”

 

* * *

 

Zelda nodded carefully.

She reached for her pouch with one hand, the other remained in the air. Very slowly, she opened the little bag and tugged out the letter, holding it as high as she could manage so he might take it.

All her willpower could not stop the soft shaking of her fingers. Her pose made her ache even more, the cramps in her abdomen flaring.

In the heat of the Dragon’s Mouth, at least her fever wouldn’t show, which was good. Otherwise the King of Thieves, the Lord of Darkness, the Great Ganondorf would think she was a weakling for sure.

 

* * *

 

He snatched the letter away with a twist of bright magic, calling it directly to his hand as he hooked the reins over the high pommel. Ganondorf frowned as he unfolded the disturbingly familiar - if damp - onionskin vellum. He flicked a glance over the page, pretending to an inspection he didn't need to make.

Asifad posed, arching his neck prettily and rearranging his feet.

_If she but coos at the overgrown hedonist he would surely disgrace us both._

Ganondorf refolded the letter one-handed as he considered her condition, her dress, and her untutored efforts to pitch her voice low.

She opened her mouth, but closed it again without wording an objection, her gaze focused on the center of his chest, as he tucked the letter away there, under the peak of his armor.

“Theft. Perjury. Trespass. Impersonation. Treason,” he drawled, unhooking the water skin from the far side of his saddle. “A passable resume.”

He held the skin up so she could see it.

“Name?”

“Sheik,” she answered.

He dropped the skin at her feet, raising the trishul and hooking it in place at his stirrup. “Accepted.”


	3. The Unwilling Recruit

_The letter! He still has the letter. Why does he keep this letter?_ She bit her lip, concentrating on holding her ground. She needed this letter to find Dinauru!

Then again, she had read this letter so many times, she could cite most of it by heart.

So instead of protesting, she stared at the water skin to her feet. The thought of fresh water alone made her swallow hard, her dry throat raspy from the desert dust.  
Zelda didn’t move. _Accepted_ , he’d said. After listing off things she’d done.

_It’s not true! Trespassing, yes. But treason? Perjury? Theft! Impersonation? Well … the latter probably, but he can’t know! What even does he mean with résumé?_ Oh she wanted to object and.. but a warrior could keep a straight face. And a princess needed to be polite and calm. And she was both at the moment.

_Kind of._

Zelda took a shaky breath and reached deftly for the water skin. Before he changed his mind. Carefully, she took a few little sips, not wasting one drop to the hot ground. When her throat felt refreshed, she corked the skin and came to her feet again.

A motion that _should_ have been swift.

She held the waterskin out, seizing the opportunity to examine him. Huge. That was for sure. Was that a smug grin on his face? The white mantle stirred in the wind, only accentuating his broad shoulders, his leathers were fitted perfectly to his body.

“Thank you for your acceptance and water, Your Majesty.” Zelda finally replied. She blinked against the sun while looking up to him. And now? Could she go on? Her friend lived in the valley, but she did not exactly add a map to her letter.

Which was now in the hands of almighty Ganondorf the Great. Zelda found, that a guide would be appropriate. However, it would do no good to insult the man and tell him to lead her.

She cleared her throat. “You might not by chance travel to the valley, Your Majesty?”

Though the thought of riding in her condition was sickening.

_At least it would be faster than walking_ , Zelda told herself and tried to look into the King’s eyes bravely.

 

* * *

 

He ignored her attempt to return the skin, narrowing his eyes at her awkward stance.

_Disgraceful._

“Hn. All recruits report to the training grounds for testing,” he said, watching her eyes. “Serve well and you may earn leisure to see the valley. Eventually.”

 

* * *

 

Zelda let the water skin sink again, before her arm could grow tired. She blinked. "W-what?"

So that was what his rambling was all about? He was _recruiting_ her? He couldn't be serious!

 

* * *

 

Ganondorf smiled, crossing his free arm over the other and leaned in the saddle just enough to loom over her. He rather liked looming. It made people nervous.

And nervous people made mistakes.

“For what other purpose would you undertake to travel three days into hostile territory with no provisions nor supply to speak of, but to join my illustrious army of evil?”

 

* * *

 

Confused, she stared at His Bragness and shook her head, trying to regain some composure after her first ineloquent outburst.

"I am not your recruit! I'm a guest!" At least, that's what she wanted to be.

A spark of spite pierced through her, making her following words sharper than she wanted.

"If you'd now be so kind as to guide me to a shadowy place so I can rest, I should be thankful. If your time doesn't allow, I shall gladly find my way myself."

She knew it was no good to be impolite, but she just didn't have the energy to waste on standing around, burning in the sun, dealing with a King and his odd ideas. _And if this angers him, fine. Being spiked by a trishul can't be much worse than the daggers in me now._

 

* * *

 

He raised a brow, clicking his tongue at her in censure. Asifad bobbed his vast shaggy head, eager to run again. His favorite thing. Right after bread with honey on it. And ear scritches. And being the center of attention.

“Bold demands for a fledgling, Sheik. You should be grateful the Exalted Nabooru is not present to hear you trying to shirk your duties and put on such ridiculous airs, or I should enjoy watching her correct your lazy habits. Go on then, west with you.”

 

* * *

 

West he said, but she just gave him an incredulous look instead of walking. "You can read, right? And understand me?"

Shirking duties? Did he not listen to what she said earlier? What was the sense in asking her name and business, when he couldn't even understand her answer? Why did he keep mentioning duties, when she wasn't here for his stupid army at all?

_Maybe his Hylian isn't that good, and all of this is a big misunderstanding._

Clearing her throat she changed to Gerudo language. She knew the vocabulary and grammar perfectly well, having studied every book on Gerudo language the Castle Library would possess.

"I said, I am here to visit a friend."

 

* * *

 

Ganondorf laughed.

Asifad sighed, and grumbled, and still he laughed.

The canyon gave his mirth back to him as hollow shadows, and _still_ he laughed.

It was indeed _very_ good that the Exalted Nabooru was not present to witness this unusual tête-a-tête. He would surely never hear the end of it. The crown princess of Hyrule, calling _him_ illiterate.

With  _that_ accent.

“This friend of yours,” he said in his own tongue, when he could manage something like breath again. “Surely they are possessed of the patience of mountains, the stupidity of sheep, or the charity of the Three themselves. Otherwise, they must be deaf as a snake, or you are disgustingly rich - and thus hereafter _I_ shall be.”

 

* * *

 

Zelda's cheeks flushed deep red, but she crossed her arms over her chest in the best scolding manner she could muster. Fine. His laughter at least sounded nicer than his mocking. Deep and rich and sympathetic. Still! How dared he laugh at her like that? It was not her fault, her words sounded so different than his (and listening to his silken, round pronunciation, she had a fairly good grasp now of how awful her own was).

She wondered if he would fall from his horse any time soon. _Would serve him well._

And then he went and.. insulted her friend! She couldn't quite catch everything he said, he was a little too breathless and the pronunciation too different from what she expected.

But the insult... _that_ she understood!

"My friend is nothing the like! She is a great person, understanding, witty and smart! She would never care about how rich I am, and if we'd ever met, she would have corrected my speech, alright? It is neither her fault nor mine that my pronunciation is a little special. I taught this language to myself, all alone! So don't sit there on your coquetting horse all high and mighty. Teach me how to do better instead!" Zelda retorted angrily, almost stumbling over her own words, trying to imitate his way to speak Gerudo.

Thankfully, she was too flustered to be shocked by how she just talked to an enemy King.

 

* * *

 

“Hn. You mount a most ardent defense for a near stranger. How much more passion might you pour out for a true friend,” he said, amused by her fury. “You have me _almost_ convinced that you risk grave personal injury and an international incident to engage a superior tutor.”

She scowled up at him, but her bright eyes reflected little understanding.

“You are mistaken, however,” he continued, placing great care in the clarity of his speech this time. “Your friend _is_ at fault for allowing a little war to interfere with your education.”

Without pausing for breath between, he repeated it in the bright tonal speech of the Zora, and again in the resonant percussive tongue of the Goron, and again in the lilt of the forest people, and the harsh growl of Holodrum and the sing-song of Labrynna, the formal march of ancient High Hylian and the fell thunder of demons.

Last of all, he gave it to her in perfect, bland, courtly Hylian.

_Illiterate indeed._


	4. Will And Strength

She squinted up at him and his smug recitations. She was fluent in two thirds of the languages he presented with such perfect pronunciation, and she recognized most of the others. _Of course_ he would master Demonic. And Labrynnian. She _hated_ Labrynnian. It was her weakest language.

A part of her was amazed, impressed even. _Better not tell him that, though. He is bragging enough already, with his prancing pony and his looming and his whole status, Ganondorf the Great and all._

“So, you _can_ understand me. Then surely, as you speak of international incidents, it would do you no good to mock your guests,” she said, showing, that not all of his words were lost on her. “Dinauru is not at fault. Mock me all you like, _Your Majesty_ , but do not speak badly about _her_.”

Despite his amusement, she still tried it in Gerudo. It was only polite to speak the language of the host. _Or try._

Zelda glared at him for another moment or two, then her shoulders sagged a little.  
She turned west. And started walking.

 

* * *

 

He laughed, amused beyond measure. He couldn't remember the last time he’d been so entertained by anything. To be fair, she _was_ making an effort, and he had every cause to know she’d had no opportunity to learn the beauty of the desert or its language.

And then! She gave him her back with perfect contempt, for him, for her precarious position. No one challenged him like this, no one dared dismiss his power.

She was infuriating. She was insufferable. She was impertinent, imperious, impatient.

She was _intoxicating._

Asifad turned eagerly enough to follow, sighing when his rider held him back to a walk. She ignored them both, and they walked at her right hand in companionable silence for a good mile.

When she stumbled, he did her the courtesy of not noticing. Asifad, on the other hand, never in his life learned the meaning of shame, let alone discretion.

“You say this friend of yours, Dinauru, issued an invitation. So I assume,” he drawled in Hylian. “You must also posses a map. Or at least directions. Some token of passage, or perhaps... a promised rendezvous?”

 

* * *

 

Zelda just walked. And was glad her guide did not interrupt the silence for a while. The anger and spite cooled off, making her realize how improper she was. Starting a petty argument with the King of the Gerudos himself! _The King!_

He surely seemed to have fun, though. Didn’t seem to mind her manners, either. Provoked her on every occasion.  
It was his fault, he started it, with his mockery and his unbelievable drawling and bragging. He himself was improper! Just by existing!

Zelda stumbled.

At least the discussion had made her forget pain and sorrow for a little while. Arguing with His Bragness even reminded her a bit of arguing with Dinauru. Maybe this habit and the whole provoking thing were typical Gerudo traits.

Zelda stumbled again.

He said something. More drawling, but she only caught the last few words, despite his perfect Hylian. “No such thing, and if there were, I wouldn’t tell you. You’d just punish her. Then again, treason obviously is a criteria for allowance to join your army. Maybe you’d give her a rank. Who knows.”

He laughed, short and sharp, without bothering to even look at her.

Her foot caught on a small ledge in the ground. She stumbled a third time, and would have fallen, if not for Asifad’s big head. The horse shoved it right under her arm, giving her something to hold on to.

Zelda allowed herself to borrow the strength of Asifad, leaning heavily against his head. Just a little moment, she told herself. To gain a few seconds of rest, she patted his head and scratched one of his ears.

“Good boy,” she murmured.

She just wanted to curl into a ball, somewhere in the shadow, and sleep. Very not-warriorlike, very unprincessy. She swallowed her pride and asked: “Is it far?”

 

* * *

 

“To the training grounds? Very,” he said. “One would expect this lesson in the logistics of far travel is not one you will forget soon, Sheik.”

He ignored Asifad’s shameless laziness, pretending he meant the beast to stand in the road exactly thus. He studied her as best he could without turning - that she was in poor state became only more apparent with every yard they put between them and green-covered Hyrule.

_What could have possessed her to engage such folly?_

She didn't have much of anything with her beyond the clothes on her back, and her belt pouches might hold a half-day’s rations if she’d feasted before setting out. Which he very much doubted.

 

* * *

 

“You said you’d take me to a shadowy place, to rest.”

 _No,_ she remembered shortly after finishing her sentence, _**I** wanted to go there, and he said, we should go west. He never said he’d oblige my wish. Or maybe I should have added ‘close’ to my description of preferred shelter._

“I did nothing of the kind,” he said, vanishing his trishul. “What do you imagine your Dinauru would say just now?”

Zelda forced herself to stand upright on her own again, caressing Asifad’s beautiful face. Making a few steps away from her ‘guide’, she assessed the surroundings. If he wouldn’t lead her, she would lead herself. She had asked him. She would not ask again, and she would surely not beg.

This was a canyon, and as such certainly had many little caves. She didn’t need much. Just a tiny, cool space where she could sleep.

It was hard at first, scanning the rock with the bright sunlight and with her vision being slightly blurry, but there was.. something that looked like shelter.

“She’d say, that overexertion won’t do any good. A warrior needs their strength, rest is of the essence if one wants to make progress. She... She’d say…” Zelda faltered. “How should I know? I am not her. I’m here to visit her exactly for the purpose of _finding out_ what she’d say.”

And not about her current condition, no. She knew what she needed, regarding her body. This was about feelings and fears and fate and fealty.

“You are not blind. Nor are you stupid. Quite the opposite. But instead of - after my efforts of being polite to an enemy - instead of showing me at least a near place where I can rest, you mock me. Tease me.

“I do nothing of the kind,” he said, turning his golden eyes on her at last. “You must learn to listen, Sheik, if you are to survive out here.”

“Do you expect me to beg you to show some minor, infinitesimal little kindness? You can forget that right here. If you don’t lead me, I lead myself, and if I burn in the sun, so be it, Goddesses bear witness!”

“How shall you lead yourself if you do not know where you are going?”

He held out his left hand, kicking free of the stirrup on that side, and waited.

She stared at him. Clenched her fists. Glanced at the ladder he offered - boot, stirrup, hand. His uncanny golden eyes. _Learn to listen,_ he said. She wanted to yell at him, spit fire. _And what of ‘I need a shadowy place so I can rest’ did **he** not understand?_

 _That serves me well,_ she thought. _For thinking a mere invitation could suffice to meet Dinauru. To think it would get me there, all smooth. No, I’m stupid. Stupid and desperate. All I wanted was a friend and comfort and some advice._

_What I **get** is a test of will and strength and wits._

She grasped his hand for balance to begin the climb, and found herself pulled around sideways - by strength and by magic - directly into his lap. She gasped in surprise and tensed.

A tight fit, wedging her hips between the high pommel of his war saddle and the solid mass of him, but not _precisely_ uncomfortable. He wound his right arm around behind her, braced on the saddle rather than grasping her.

But - he held her hand.

Ten, twenty heartbeats thundered past.

 _You cannot cry. You mustn’t! Don’t show further weakness, this is just a trick to .. to.._  
She stared at the huge hand that held hers, softly yet firm. Much too nice. He wasn’t allowed to be this nice, all of a sudden! He wasn’t allowed to make her feel that safe. And she wasn’t allowed to take advantage of that. But…

“It would be inconvenient,” he said, articulating each syllable with studied precision as he turned his attention to the horizon. “If you fell, I should have to go back and fetch you.”

 _Just for a little moment,_ she told herself.

She pressed her forehead into his chest and gripped his hand harder, let the emotions of fear and insecurity wash over her. She sagged against him and just breathed.

Why did he feel so good? Why did his status not act as deterrent for her? She should not fling herself at him like that. Why did he just - sit there, and _let_ her? That just did not feel... kingly.

After a few heartbeats more, where Zelda just let his strength be her anchor, she sat upright again, her grip on his hand becoming tender.  
“Apology accepted,” she murmured.

 

* * *

 

Ganondorf drew a measured breath, reaching for the peace of the sands, and released her hand as the flower greets the twilight.

 _You abject fool_ , he told himself.

Asifad bestirred himself to resume their walk at the slightest touch, behaving himself for once.

 

* * *

 

Asifad carried them loyally through the last bit of the Dragon’s Mouth, into broken country entirely unfamiliar to her. Maps of Gerudo territory were always sketchy, more so the further one pressed from the gorge dividing it from Hyrule. Zelda had always expected the empty places would be flatter than this - the veterans of the western wars certainly spoke of vast, desolate wastes. This was hardly _inviting_ terrain, but no more empty than the higher reaches of the Goron foothills.

The silence between them was a soothing one. The sound of hooves on the hard ground, the heat, the movement under her - that was dangerous. It was almost lulling her to sleep.

_More dangerous than that, though, is **him.** His Bragness the Entirely Too Enormous. His Smugness, the Enigma. _

Snapping at him had been surprisingly easy, now that she thought of it. A tiny voice whispered, that she liked his laughter and even enjoyed the back and forth a little.

_Silence, tiny voice!_

Zelda tried to stay focused, looking at the surroundings as they passed. More stone, but not the high walls of the gorge or the Dragon’s Mouth canyon. Twisted vegetation clinging to the broken terrain. Sand. She drew her cowl higher to protect her face from dust, wind and sun.

She wondered where he might take her. But as Ganondorf had found a position for her that was comfortable enough to endure the pain, she wasn't sure she cared.


	5. The Dragon's Stair

  
Asifad came to a halt.

Zelda started up from her doze and cursed inwardly. Falling asleep in a stranger’s arms was not what she intended to do. _Why must he make it so easy?_

Now she would never find her way back if she must.

Her dismay didn’t last long, however. Looking around them, she found the world to be a vast space, the rocky, sandy ground between hills and broken remnants of ancient mountains stretching out below.

_So high._

She took it all in, guiding her gaze from the left of her all the way to the right. She gasped. There, the rock they stood on reached even higher up into the sky.

 _It must feel like flying, standing on top of this beautiful monstrosity, the whole world at one’s feet._  
  
A path wound itself up the escarpment, looking partly hewn, partly like a natural formation. The great hulking bigness of this place loomed like a protector over the land, the raw stone face beautiful in the light of the sun. Her eyes filled with wonder  
  
“It’s a marvelous place,” she murmured in awe. Her voice sounded so tiny here on the almost-top of the world. Even Ganondorf with his impressive height was nothing compared to the terracotta-colored rock.

“What is this place, Your Majesty?” she asked, true curiosity softening her voice.

 

* * *

 

“Hn. _Majesty_ is it now,” he said, sitting back in the saddle. She’d fallen asleep within half a mark of setting out, but he didn’t mind. Rather the reverse - it gave him time to think.

The letter she carried was a frivolous one, composed half in spite. The last thing he wanted to read at the tail end of a hard campaign season was nonsense about the latest fashionable minstrel charming her court and her petty annoyance over archive space ‘wasted’ on the pedigree and training of hounds. From her description, the pampered court musicians with their delicate, temperamental fifteen-string lutes would lose their tiny little minds to hear what a savage thief could do with a three-string komuz.

He’d never imagined she would actually accept the invitation. Over the years she’d ignored or dismissed dozens of others, and he’d stopped issuing them long ago. Except to snap at her in the last, and refuse to countenance any further praise of overblown Hylian ‘art’ until she heard the music of the People for herself.

_So why now?_

She _knew_ the next festival wouldn’t be held until solstice. And why in such desperate condition? Hyrule had come out the better of this campaign - and for all her other follies he’d expected she’d possess more forethought than this. Or the intelligence to order her people to have forethought _for_ her.

Which raised the question of how she got this far from home without her pet scorpion in tow - and what uproar she left behind her.

_Has there been a coup?_

Was that why she fell into his arms half-dead from exposure and deprivation, placing her trust so readily in a complete stranger - an enemy of her country?

Yes, much better she slept while those thoughts chased each other around his head.

“We train warriors here, below,” he said, nudging Asifad to turn, so she could see how the canyons looked like arrow shafts gathered in an open quiver. “See the target boards? The barrels and fences? There are other, larger training grounds, with more varied terrain, but the Lady’s Quiver is one of the best.”

 

* * *

 

She inspected the Lady’s Quiver and sighed. “I wish our training grounds were as enormous as yours. Maybe I should show up for duties in the morrow after all. I’d love to test my skill with bow and arrow.”

The Hylian warriors had, of course, barracks where they trained. The training ground she herself used was of Sheikan nature, and well hidden, half a day’s ride from the castle. No one needed to know the Princess was being educated in the arts of fighting and disguise.

“Who is the Lady? She must have been a fierce markswoman, if this vast area is named after her quiver.”

Silence stretched taut as a bowstring.

“Perhaps Dinauru neglected to mention the Mother of Sands,” he said, dry as dust. “This place is not named for any part of her regalia, but for Her Arrows. Our warriors.”

“I do know a few things about the Mother of Sands. Yet my friend surely had the best reasons for not telling me all about your impressive landmarks,” Zelda replied, her left brow arched slightly.

Yet, when her eyes found the Lady’s Quiver again, she felt sad. _The arrows of the Lady_. How many of them had fallen in the war? She had tried to find records - but all her teachers could give her were those about Hylian losses. It was a delicate topic for sure. One she didn’t want to bring up now.

“And what is this overwhelming rock called? The colors are beautiful.”

“The Dragon’s Stair,” he said with a shrug. “No one comes here.”

“Why not? This is a breathtaking place. I never saw anything like it. Is this our final destination?” The rest had restored some of her spirit. That, and the astounding surroundings. It was easy to forget the reason why she came here, when the world was new and exciting like this.

She wanted to climb this rock. Wanted to see if it really was like flying to stand on the top. Zelda looked at Ganondorf. “You must be here often, if you know that no one ever comes here, hm?”

“Not as much as I was once,” he said after a moment. “Anyways, it is more beautiful than this at twilight. If you would explore it, I will have a word with my stewards meanwhile.”

The princess frowned. Was there regret in his voice? She couldn’t tell. His mood was calm but seemed a little indifferent. What might be on his mind?

_He is a King. Much is on his mind, of course. I might think he is insufferable here and there, but he did sacrifice a lot of time for me. I am not even an official guest. Not even an important visitor. Maybe I can help him by relieving him of my presence for a while._

She sat upright. “I have come to this land by invitation, but without allowance. I am aware that you show me a lot of kindness, even though I complained about your manners before. You are a king and I occupy valuable time. Me, a stranger. A Hylian.”

“Hn. It is not every day I recruit a sheikah warrior mage,” he said, wide lips twisting in a lopsided smirk.

Zelda looked down to the Lady’s Quiver again. “If you just show me a sheltered place nearby where I can rest, you need not guide me any further and can attend to your duties. If you could send someone to tell me as soon as you should choose to give me permission to meet Dinauru, or at least send word to her I am come, or if I should leave, I would owe you a debt. Until that, I will not go anywhere without approval.”

“You might find the view at top of the Stair of interest, if you enjoy a bit of a climb,” he said, tilting his chin towards it and holding his left hand out in clear offer of support if she chose to dismount. “Talk of debt is unnecessary.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, assessing the effort this climb would demand from her. Oh, she wanted to go up there. But it looked like a long, bothersome journey. Would she even be able to reach half of it?

Still, Zelda took Ganondorf’s hand, savoring the strength he showed for a moment, and with his help slid from Asifad’s high back. Curiosity won. She’d manage somehow, find shelter and then sleep for a few days straight until her pain was gone. And the blood.

It was a shallow plan, but it was a plan. “Never dismiss a debt so easily. Now I cannot give you anything, but there might come a time, I can repay you. If debt is too harsh a word, see it as favor, then.” She gifted him a little smile.

He stared down his long nose at her with an odd, opaque expression, broad hands resting on his thighs. Sunlight sparked on his gaudy topaz jewelry as the wind lifted his mantle.

"Beware the wicked oath, Sheik, for I will hold you to it."

“I hope so.”

 _Will we meet again?_   She wanted to ask, but the words got stuck in her throat.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”, Zelda bid him goodbye and caressed Asifad’s flank a last time before she turned to face the rock. She hadn’t even set her foot on the first step of the Stair, when her guide already had vanished, accompanied by the thunder of hooves on stone.

Nearing the face of the rock, she found the stairs to be not as deformed and difficult as it seemed. Someone had gone through the effort of hewing smaller steps, smooth and easy to climb.

It still tired her out fast. From time to time Zelda sat down and rested for a few minutes. She ate the rest of her meager provisions - a stunted apple, a few nuts and berries - and drank from the gifted water skin, fighting her way up the Dragon’s Stairs stubbornly. The warm ground reflected the sun, adding to its warmth. When she finally reached the top, she was drenched and sticky. The pain in her abdomen once again clawed at her.

Dizzy, she took a few sips, careful to save some water for later.

Right in front of her was the entrance to a narrow space with some larger room beyond. Zelda stepped closer and entered warily. It was a square chamber, with elaborate patterns carved into the gray-green walls and rust-colored floor. Dozens of amber crystals were set directly into the walls just above her head.

Light fell through a round glass in the ceiling, dipping everything in the afternoon’s gold. It was dry and clean. Thick rugs covered the floor against the far wall, their intricate patterns still visible. She saw a few clay pots in another corner - they appeared to be used from time to time. _Maybe they hold food._

Her stomach growled in anticipation. She told him to shut up.

For another moment or two, she enjoyed the beauty of the place, inspected the crystals and glanced through the ceiling into the sky. Then she focused the pile of cushions. The bliss. Pure bliss.

Dropping her empty beltpouches and shriveled waterskins, she sank on her knees and let herself fall right into the soothing embrace of those fat, soft, heaven-sent amenities.

She was filthy but she didn’t care. She rolled herself in her cloak so as to not defile them with her blood, and curled up i the nest of cushions. Water here was too valuable to wash herself with it, anyway. Zelda sighed and buried her face in the sweet softness, pouring all her sorrows into the color-faded nest.

There was not much time to cry. The peaceful solitude of the place sent her to sleep fast.

  
And she was still asleep when the King came to find her.


	6. Not Day Not Night

Ganondorf pushed Asifad harder than he’d prefer, racing time and his own disordered thoughts. He needed more information, and he needed supplies. Asifad could rest with Nialet - she didn't have a stable but there was a flat place in the courtyard of her family compound. That would serve. Asifad would fuss about being tethered beyond the reach of her flowers, but he’d be comfortable enough in the shade, with good feed.

Someone saw him coming though the afternoon was punishing, and hauled the gates open. Sisters veiled against the heat emerged from every shadow as he dismounted, rushing to help him strip off the tack and get the poor beast wiped down. The shameless stud leaned into every caress as if he hadn't just risked foundering.

“Greetings O My King,” said Nialet from somewhere behind him. “In my garden at the hour of madness with a sweaty horse.”

Ganondorf smiled at her wry tone. She was a radiant and restful spirit, and he treasured every chance of leisure in her company. There wouldn't be much of it to indulge this winter of his suspicions proved correct. He set the saddle to dry in the shade and stripped off his mantle as he faced her. “Whatever detail the Exalted has you on, from this moment she can find someone else. How many are in your house now?”

Nialet lifted her chin, studying his face. He wondered what she saw, but she never answered frivolous questions. “Who do you need us to bury, Sun’s Ray?”

“Me, if this goes badly,” he said kissing her strong hands. “But first I must raid your stillroom, and ward the villa.”

“Not the storehouse, O My King?”

_Varesh? Here? Why?_

“Hn, only if you have been stocking it,” he said, turning to offer her a smirk.

Varesh laughed, and took his free hand in both of her own. Her hair was down, tumbling beautifully over her rounded bronze shoulders and loose linen wrap.

_Oh. That's why._

Her bright eyes laughed along with her when he licked his lips and smiled at the thought. It was good that his petitioners be fond of one another. Especially his favorites.

“I have not yet found the time,” she began. “What is this?”

 _This_ was the bloodstains on his fingers, and the damp shadow on his right thigh. The black arming suit he wore hid almost any insult from the casual observer. _They_ were anything but. Both women frowned as he turned his hands palm-up for their inspection.

“Outriders reported a lone traveler - a refugee from the enemy. I need you to hide her here, even from the Exalted, until I say otherwise.”

Nialet spoke first, her eyes focused intently on his. She was twenty years his senior, her red hair kissed with silver at the temples, and though she was not a distinguished warrior, she was a wise one. “What have you done?”

“More to the point is what dogs of Hyrule have done,” he said. “From her condition, she’s been bleeding for days. Not a recent blasphemy - or not only that.”

They murmured in shared sympathy, but it was Varesh who spoke next. “Could just be misfortune and grief - is the poor lamb too ill to say?”

He shook his head. “She’s made every effort to disguise her condition.”

Nialet raised one eloquent brow. “Indeed, it is marvelous what wonders the Sun’s Ray may uncover.”

Ganondorf groaned, reclaiming a hand to push back the pressure building behind his eyes. “I carried her to shelter. Left her with food and water. She needs the company of women - a good healer - neither of which-”

“Pfft,” said Varesh, planting her fists on ample hips. “Getting too lazy to look after your fancy foreign girlfriend?”

Ganondorf rolled his eyes. “She wants nothing to do with me. I just can't have Nabooru leaping into this before I-”

Nialet cut him off. “How old is she?”

“Fifteen. I need to send my scouts-”

Nialet interrupted again, examining his captive hand more closely. “How _exactly_ is she dressed? She built more like me, or Varesh?”

Ganondorf frowned. “Thin as a reed. What has that to do with anything?”

Varesh and Nialet exchanged a Look.

Varesh ran her fingers over the bloodsplotch on his thigh. “She have her breasts bound?”

Ganondorf snorted. “I didn't exactly _check._ ”

“You have eyes,” said Nialet, releasing his hand and fixing him with another of her take-no-shit stares.

“Yes. Probably. I don't know,” he said, glancing between them, trying to untangle what they were getting at. “She’s wearing stolen sheikah heraldry and trying to get to the Valley without map or provisions.”

“So how did you know she’s avadha?” Varesh said.

“How do you know she’s fifteen?” Nialet said at the same time.

Ganondorf growled. He wanted to bring her to Nialet for her skills and her discretion, but also because she _wouldn't_ know the Princess from a peasant unless someone told her. Not that she’d care, except as she’d understand at once the volatility of the situation.

“I don't see any death echoes on you, my king.” Nialet spoke softly, caressing his arm.

He frowned. “Probably just too faint. She must have lost the child days ago -”

Varesh tilted her head. “Why are you so certain there was one? Did you see its spirit when you found them?”

“I didn't look for it,” he said. “It's the only reasonable explanation-”

“You forget, Sun’s Ray,” said Nialet. “ _We_ know the sun and moon often ride the sky together - but Hylians only acknowledge Night and Day.”


	7. The Oldest Shade Of Red

Ganondorf flew along the twilight roads, focused entirely on his destination. The shadow-wraiths and lost souls would misdirect him if they could, slow him at every opportunity, and he wasn't certain he could afford any delay at all, if he was going to persuade Sheik to take the shadow-roads when he arrived.

But when he stepped into the entirely mundane shadows of the observatory, they were asleep, curled up in their short cloak on the pile of cushions, back pressed against the wall. He sighed, debating whether to try the return trip without waking them first.

Except the provisions looked completely untouched. He called a modest ball of magelight to feed the amber crystal lamps, just to be certain. No, they were still dusty.

_At least they had the sense to drink more water._

Ganondorf crossed the room, letting his boots _clok_ over the smooth stone floor, and sank to one knee beside Sheik, placing his hand on the rug next to them.

 

* * *

 

His presence did not go unnoticed. Despite being asleep, her senses tingled. The sound of boots and shadow of the huge man should triggered her survival instincts. She should have been awake in a heartbeat, drawing a dagger.

Instead, she could barely open her eyes. Zelda felt the touch of fever on her body, but the pain was better. A little sleep-dizzy she looked up to Ganondorf.

“Come,” he said, pitching his voice low. “You are missing the beauty of twilight, Sheik ilmaha Karsooda.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She dreamed. Of course she dreamed. The King of Gerudos did not come back for a foreign Sheikah warrior mage. Surely he was only an illusion, cast by the mind caught between sleep and vigil. And would vanish if she tried to reach for him.

And still, she stretched out her arm, touching the hand that was on the rug beside the cushions. It was warm and solid and did not vanish at all.

_I’m not dreaming._

She withdrew her fingers. Sat up almost hastily. “Apologies.”

In the dim light, his golden eyes seemed to glow. Zelda straightened some more, trying to shake off the tendrils of sleep.

“Hn,” he said, following her with his eyes. He wore his pale mantle thrown back this time, pinned only at the shoulders. The topaz gems in his earrings and heavy pectoral and sewn to the high collar of his dark arming coat shone in the soft amber light. A handful of red curls spilled over one shoulder, accented by a scattering of tiny braids, woven with gold beads in them. “A warrior’s body is one pillar of their strength. As a garden in the desert must be brought shade and water and food, so a warrior must tend their strength. You can only harvest from it what you have nurtured.”

The words made her frown, waking a deep feeling of familiarity and recognition in her heart. Now it was her to give him an opaque look.

Finding her countenance at last, she folded her hands in her lap and cleared her dry throat.

“I’m ready.”

He offered his hand without rising. He was enormous enough he didn't need to. “You’re not, but you will learn.”

She took it without hesitation this time, unfolding herself from the cushion nest. Standing, she wrapped the bloodied cloak around her hips. He’d surely already seen the blood. But now that her mind was not occupied by the want for rest and shelter, she cared more about her filthy state than hours ago, so she did what she could to look presentable.

“Will we see more wonders?” she asked.

“That would depend on your understanding of wonder,” he said, rising smoothly to his full height. But not looming. Not really. Just enormous, blotting out half the light - a vast darkness adorned with - shards of captive light.

He raised his bright golden eyes to the glass ceiling and the purpling twilight beyond. A thin ribbon of shimmering purple-green-gold light snaked its way across the sky, weaving between the pinprick stars.

She stepped at his side, following his gaze. What a sight! Gasping, with wide eyes, she stood and watched. Infatuated by this unexpected force of nature, of which she only had read in…

_Letters. Many, old letters. And then books, when I was old enough to find them by myself in the library._

Now she also understood the function of this place. It was an observatory, shaped and situated to study the night skies.

_A place to study the stars and watch the ‘wandering fire’. Just like Dinauru promised to show me, should I ever visit her._

“It is breathtaking. Definitely a wonder,” she said, not taking her eyes from the shimmering lights. “How do you call them?”

Silence, and a faint pressure on her hand as he turned, drawing her towards the narrow entrance passage. He led her out onto the wide terrace of the top of the Dragon’s Stair, looking out over his kingdom. The mild wind had a chill to it, and his mantle billowed out behind him. In this light the blue and orange gear-tooth patterns on it looked the same, jagged tracks moving in counterpoint against a pale ground. Except for that and his bright jewelry, the rest of him was shadow, sharp-edged against the backdrop of the painted sky and gilded landscape.

As the orange sun oozed below the jagged horizon, he spoke at last, a low rumble as much felt as heard. “You won't find Dinauru in the valley.”

Now she was the silent one. She understood almost at once what he meant. His behaviour had made her suspicious earlier that day, but the observatory, the quote about the pillar of strength, how he spoke... It created a lump in her throat. Not able to say anything, Zelda took his hand and squeezed it, her heart beating fast.

No wonder he felt so familiar and right and trustworthy. She’d wanted to meet Dinauru, and she’d found ‘her’ at last.

“I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner,” she finally whispered. Like, half a lifetime ago. All those letters, and she’d never even guessed it was him. And he’d never corrected her, did he? Why was that?

_Maybe he feels more comfortable being Dinauru from time to time as I feel being Sheik._

She shifted her stance and let her body touch his, leaning softly against him.

 

* * *

 

“All Geldo but one are avadha to the Mother of Sands,” he said, keeping his voice low. The night wind would rise soon, but if he did not speak now, he wasn't sure he ever could. He’d never thought anyone would be able to understand - especially not Zelda. They’d always seemed so completely invested in being _princess_ with all that entailed that he never even considered why not once did Zelda write _‘when I am Queen’_.

“Becoming more than ilmaha - gaining a Name - these are honors which are won from the spirits. Most go into the sands for their trials in their twelfth year or so. For some, it is later, when they realize their Name will not come to them like rain, but like an oasis they can only find by seeking it out first. They are no different than any other avadha, except when they cross the border. There are many reasons you will never see my sisters travel alone, not least of which is the violence with which your men answer anything which challenges their tyranny.”

Ganondorf dragged his free hand over his face as he struggled to spin out the words in a yarn that wouldn't break. His chin was rough already even though Eidalu had shaved him late that morning, on account of a long night of petitions. Aside from the fog of wine keeping him abed late, she’d needed extra time to replait half his braids and unravel the roc’s nest snarl of the rest.

“I went into the sands nine years ago,” he said at last. “I may have been born different - but I _chose_ my destiny. When I took the War Crown at fifteen, I swore to reshape this world to a superior order or die trying.”

The wandering fires danced with heartwrenching beauty as night approached. The wind was picking up - he would have to open the shadow roads soon, or not at all.

He reclaimed his hand and fumbled with the clasp of the secret locket under the central cabochon of his enameled stag’s head pendant. He hadn't opened it in three years, and at first he thought it might have rusted shut. When it sprang open at last, the wind stole the folded paper hidden inside - but Sheik stole it back.

 

* * *

 

His voice was so heavy. She was captured by the emotions in his eyes when she looked up to him. The rising night wind tore at the paper in her hand, trying to rip it back from her, but she refused it.

In the fading light, she stared at a fragment of a page of a letter she herself wrote. _What does it mean, him keeping it on his body like this?_

She remembered well the time around which she sent it. Just before the first major Gerudo assault on Hyrule in years, just before first harvest. A surprise which conquered the lake country and a healthy measure of farmland. She had been worried sick about Dinauru, for she didn't receive an answer until well after spring thaw the following year.. It had been the first time she tried to speak up to her father, convincing him to seek peaceful negotiations.  
He didn't listen to her.

It was two years of hard fighting, pushing them back again.

Zelda swallowed hard. _How ironic._ She told Dinauru she'd never want to grow up. Wished never to become a woman, a wife, a mother, a bargaining chit, host of the next branch of the dynasty. In the same season he declared himself a man, crowning himself a War King.

 _I was twelve,_ she reminded herself. _There was no shame in not wanting to grow up._  
And yet.. he'd claimed a Name at nine! Choosing his path so early, while she was fifteen now and still waited for the path to be chosen _for_ her. 

_For some, it is later, when they realize their Name will not come to them like rain._

But the oldest shade of red had come to her, with nothing but familiar horror and a yawning emptiness.

"Do you think - the Mother of Sands would-"

“I have not the slightest doubt,” he said, holding out his hand. “Come, and we will prepare you to claim your Name.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

_**Fin** _


End file.
